


in the red

by bertee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean gets injured in Purgatory, Benny finds a new way to help out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the red

Dean gets caught off guard by a kitsune on the outskirts of Flagstaff

It's not the real Flagstaff. Place names in Purgatory don't extend much beyond 'the big rock' and 'the white tree' but as they pass through miles and miles of dirt and rocks and trees, Dean's taken to giving names to different areas. 

(Benny guesses they're names of places that he didn't like so much when he was up top. However, Dean hasn't volunteered any more of an explanation and he's not about to ask.)

This Flagstaff is a flash of open plains in the deep dark woods of Purgatory. It stretches up a broad slope with occasional clusters of trees scattered across the fields to look out on the teeming forests below. While there's better visibility at eye-level, the overgrown grass provides decent cover for any number of crawlers and biters and so Benny keeps his weapon to hand and his eyes down as they make their way through the weeds.

They're almost at the treeline when Dean goes down.

His cry carries further in the open and Benny whips around to see Dean drop down into the grass. From the movement of the weeds, he's not alone but by the time Benny makes it over to him, the kitsune is already flat on its back, Dean's blade driven through its stomach and into the dirt beneath.

It hisses as Benny approaches, more fox than man as it arches and spasms in the bloody grass, but Benny knows better than to take his eyes off it as he asks Dean, "Everything okay, brother?"

Dean's breath is short and labored. "Yeah," he says, with a tightness Benny recognizes as pain. "Son of a bitch caught my leg."

Benny lets the kitsune writhe a moment longer before he brings his blade down through its neck.

Its head rolls a couple of feet over flattened weeds as its blood pours out into the soil. The smell lingers in the air, familiar but with an underlying note of inhumanity which turns Benny's stomach, and he tries to focus on that repulsion as he crouches down to help Dean.

There are four deep cuts on Dean's thigh where the kitsune's claws dug into his flesh. The tears in the skin are neat, put there by the swift swipe of sharp nails, and Benny swallows hard at the sight of blood pooling in the wounds and trickling down over pale skin.

Even after six months with a frequently blood-covered human, it still takes him a minute to concentrate on the person instead of the food.

"These are nasty," he says, resting a hand on Dean's hip to hold him in place while he takes a better look. "Not nasty enough to hit the artery though."

"Great," Dean mutters, peering down at his leg. "Tear me off a bandage and let's move. I can-"

A shriek sounds out across the plains before he can finish.

Dean's eyes go wide as his hand closes around the hilt of his blade. "What is-"

"Banshee," Benny says, scanning the field around them and coming up empty. "We're too exposed here."

Dean rips his blade out of the kitsune's body. He doesn't raise a protest about Benny's hand on his hip as he looks over the top of the shifting grass. "The trees?"

"You think you're quick enough?"

"I'm quick enough." The wound on his leg says different but Benny doesn't argue when Dean continues, "On three."

"Five," Benny counts, shifting forward. "Four…"

They surge up through the grass on 'three'. Dean stumbles on the first step but Benny's hand curls around his arm to drag him forward towards the relative safety of the trees. The banshee's screech tears through the land like a siren and Benny almost doesn't believe it when they stumble into the forest without feeling the stab of talons in their backs.

Dean's face is ghost-pale as he reaches for the nearest tree. Blood's pouring from his thigh, staining his pants down to the knees, and Benny listens to the roughness of his breathing rather than the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart as he loops his arm around him.

"We gotta keep moving, chief," he says. "You think you can make it to that tree?"

He nods through the woods to the hefty tree in the distance. It's the best shelter they're going to get in the circumstances -- the caves are too far away, especially with a banshee on the prowl.

Dean nods, teeth clenched, and Benny hauls him forward before he can stop to reconsider his choice. He falters every time he puts weight on his injured leg and as much as Benny doesn't like seeing him in pain, he can't help but be grateful for the distraction of Dean's fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulder.

The smell hits him again as soon as they make it to the tree. Dean slumps down into the dirt, his back against the trunk and his leg outstretched, and Benny turns his face away on the pretense of catching his breath. He's gotten used to some human blood -- Dean attracts mess like he attracts trouble and he's been half-caked in dried blood for weeks -- but this much up close is new and overwhelming.

"Hey." Benny starts at the noise and looks down to see Dean staring up at him, exhausted but expectant. "You gonna help me out here?"

Benny nods. "Sorry. Bandages, right?"

They've put together a pack of sorts, mostly weapons they've lifted from other predators, but Dean's also taken to keeping some of the clothes of the more human-looking creatures they've killed. During the last three days of solid rain, he'd changed from his sodden jeans into some thinner, old-fashioned pants he'd taken from another vampire as well as an oversized plaid shirt from a redneck werewolf.

The pants are a lost cause now, gaping open at the thigh, and so Benny doesn't hesitate before hooking his fingers in the torn fabric and ripping it down the length of Dean's leg. Dean groans when the movement jostles his wound but his glare loses some of its heat as he looks up with a pained smile. "Y'know, if you wanted to get me naked, you could've just asked."

"You telling me you would've said yes?" Benny smirks. "Didn't know you swung that way, Dean."

Dean laughs, brow creased with pain as he props his leg up carefully. "Blow me."

"Ah, so that's how it is," he teases, unfurling the strip of fabric and pushing the rest of Dean's pant leg out of the way. He hooks the makeshift bandage under his leg but pauses to watch more blood trickle from the wounds. "You sure you don't wanna clean this up first?"

"With what?" Dean asks, resting his head back against the tree. "Fuck, I could use a drink right now."

He's not the only one. 

The smell of blood pours off him in waves, filling Benny's nose and throat enough that he can imagine the heat of it spilling out over his tongue. It's bright and red as it trickles from the wound, a splash of mouthwatering color in the desert that is Purgatory, and Benny can't help but lean in closer. 

Dean's heartbeat pounds in his ears, loud enough that he can't hear the banshee, the wind, or anything else above the noise of Dean's obedient heart serving up more and more blood for Benny to drink. There's no hunger down here, not in the traditional sense, but as crimson streams run over Dean's thigh, the sheer want that pulses through him is stronger than any hunger he's known.

"-you hear me?"

Benny blinks at the intrusion of noise and looks up when he hears Dean say, louder, "Benny!"

He registers the tangle of anger and fear in Dean's voice before he registers the reason for it. The bandage is lying discarded on the ground as he leans over Dean, one hand on his lower thigh and one pressed firmly against his chest to keep him pinned to the tree. 

Dean's eyes are wide and scared as he looks up at him, fingers wrapped around his wrist in an effort to push him away, and for the first time, Benny understands why so many monsters want him so very badly.

"Benny?" Dean asks, still teetering on the edge of full-blown panic. "Benny, you hearing me?"

Benny pulls back before he can second-guess himself. 

"I hear you," he says, pushing himself to his feet and running a hand through his hair. The scent of blood lingers on his skin and he takes a breath, trying to bury that urge back down again. "I'm sorry."

"What the hell was that?" Dean asks, the scales now tipping towards anger rather than terror. "What, I catch one flesh wound and now I'm fair game?" He glares up at him. "Our agreement still stands. You bite me and I swear to god, I'll cut your head off before you can swallow your first mouthful."

"I ain't gonna-"

Benny comes to an abrupt stop when he runs his tongue over the sharp points of his fangs. The flourish of want is colored by surprised shame; he can't remember the last time he lowered his fangs without realizing it.

It takes all he has to will them away before he speaks again. 

"I ain't gonna bite you," he says, trying to convince both of them. "The blood just got too much for me for a minute. That's all."

Dean watches him with suspicion. "I thought you didn't need to drink down here."

"I don't," Benny says, fighting past the craving. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to."

Dean's eyes flicker from his mouth to the front of his pants and Benny realizes with embarrassment that he's hard.

Dean's tone is somewhere between intrigued and appalled when he asks, "And that's the effect it has?"

Benny doesn't know whether he's referring to his dick or his fangs but the answer's the same either way. "Yeah. It's been a long time since I tasted human blood." He scrubs a hand over his face as he backs off further. "I'm sorry, brother. You get yourself cleaned up. I think I left our pack in the grass -- I'll go find your jeans."

He turns but Dean speaks up before he can leave. "Wait. You can't go back out there alone."

"I'm fast," he says with a shrug. "And it ain't far."

"Benny."

Benny's half-expecting a lecture about how he shouldn't take risks like that but is surprised by the question, "You really want this?"

He frowns. "Dean, you don't need-"

Dean ignores him. "Will it help? Would it make you stronger?"

"It wouldn't hurt," Benny answers honestly. He can function without it but he's never had an opportunity to test the effects of actually getting some human blood in his system here.

Part of him wants to be noble, to insist that he'd never accept the offer, but he can't bring himself to say no when Dean's right there, dripping with fresh, hot blood.

Dean nods, processing the information. "Okay," he says and fixes Benny with that goddamn resolved expression of his, the one that landed Benny with an angel tagging along on his great escape. "Drink me."

"Dean, I-"

"Drink." His thigh is bare and stained red as he spreads his legs wider in the groove of the tree's roots. "A wound like this'll take a couple of days to heal at best and if you're taking on more than your share of combat, you need all the help I can give you."

His gaze is steely and his tone as business-like as they come, but as Benny moves closer, he starts to recognize the offer for what it is.

He understands. When he first got here, alone, confused, and betrayed by his friends, he'd taken comfort in the first place he could find it. Donna had been sweet (for a ghoul), right up until she'd tried to drive a knife through his chest, but back then, in terrifying new surroundings with no other allies, he'd been desperate for whatever friendly contact he could get.

He sinks back to his knees in front of him. "You're sure about this?"

"Don't bite me," Dean says firmly. "And don't drink more than you need to. I'm bleeding anyway -- that's all yours -- but don't suck down any more than that. You got that?"

"I got it," he promises. Want stirs again, sending warmth flowing through him at the thought of human blood sliding down his throat, and he doesn't bother to hide how hard he is as he rests his hand on Dean's thigh. 

"Are you bleeding?" Dean asks sharply and it takes Benny a moment to understand the question.

"Not even a little," he says, hands raised and head raised for Dean's inspection. "I'm not gonna turn you."

"Not when you need a human to get you through that portal," Dean says. There's a smile on his lips even as tremors run through his leg beneath Benny's hand.

"That's an excellent point well made," Benny says, letting his drawl strengthen on the words. It has the desired effect and Dean relaxes a little against the tree as Benny's fangs lower again.

Lust and hunger fuse together inside him, molten and bright, and Benny closes his eyes at the rush of it as he moves in. The smell of the blood gets stronger the closer he gets, all that hot blood just waiting to be tasted, and he can barely believe his luck when he puts his mouth to his thigh.

The first taste of Dean's blood is the closest thing to ecstasy Benny's ever experienced.

It's been decades since he last drank, years and years of filth and monsters that were almost enough to wipe away the memory of just how good humans could taste. He laps hungrily at Dean's skin, licking up every last rivulet of blood from his knee up to the open wounds and groaning at the hit of pleasure that his body's been seeking for so many years.

Dean gasps above him, a breathy little noise that goes straight to Benny's dick, and Benny sucks a kiss into the soft skin of his thigh. There's gratitude there, blinding, intense gratitude at what Dean's giving him, but as he moves up to press his lips to the scratches, he's pretty sure gratitude is barely the start of it. 

The spill of Dean's blood in his mouth and the curl of his hand around Dean's thigh is so far removed from his needy, hurried nights with Donna that Benny has trouble remembering that they're both still down in the depths of Purgatory. Even the remembered bliss with Andrea can't compete with the base, primal pleasure of warm blood coursing down his throat as he takes everything Dean's willing to offer.

Distantly, he hears Dean moan, feels the press of his fingers into his shoulder as he buries his face in his thigh, but he can't think of anything but the blood. He drinks it down greedily, careful not to let his fangs break the skin, and basks in the rush of power that ignites inside him as he licks all he can from Dean's wounds.

"Benny-"

Benny's head snaps up at the sound of his name. The wound's clean now, with the only blood left on Benny's own lips, and he runs his tongue over his fangs as Dean looks over at him, dazed and breathless. His movements are clumsy as he rests his hand on Benny's shoulder and Benny moves in, hearing the quick beat of Dean's heart in his chest.

His newfound strength roars through him, carrying him along on a potent high which almost has him believing he could kill his way to the portal right now. However, Benny's mind presents other suggestions when he leans closer, the blood running hot in his veins as he watches the hitch of Dean's chest and the hint of a smile that touches his mouth.

His lips are red against the pallor of his face, red against the green of his eyes, and when Benny reaches out to cup Dean's cheek, he can't help but want to see those lips painted even redder with blood.

"Dean…"

Dean tilts his head into the touch but he blinks the haze out of his eyes before Benny can close that last gap between them.

"You fed?" His voice is rough and quiet, and Benny swallows down the last drops of his blood before he forms a response.

"I fed," he says, shifting his hand from Dean's face to his shoulder smoothly enough that he hopes he won't notice it was there to start with. "We still need to get you bandaged up but it shouldn't bleed so much anymore."

Dean nods, slow and sleepy, but doesn't take his eyes off him as Benny moves down to wrap his wound. There are marks on his thigh, shiny from Benny's mouth on his skin and dark from Benny's fingers digging into his flesh, and he tries not to look at them as he ties the bandage tight.

"So, are you stronger now?" Dean asks, sounding more sated than he has any right to. "I never got around to the whole blood-drinking part of my magical vampire mystery tour."

Benny smiles. Dean's brief stint as a vampire was useful in finding some common ground but Benny's never been able to find the words to describe just how good it feels to drink from a human.

(Deep down, he doesn't think Dean really wants to know.)

"Much stronger," he says, stepping back and flexing his fingers as that strength extends to every inch of him. "I can take point while you heal up." He flashes him a quick smirk. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to my exit strategy now, would I?"

More of the haze falls away when Dean laughs, propping his leg up as he flips Benny off, and Benny grins in return.

It's painfully easy to slip into their old holding pattern, the one that didn't involve Dean spreading his legs to let Benny drink his fill, and as Benny picks up his blade, he can't help but hope that it might be just as easy to slip back again.


End file.
